denouncements.

its like this, he leaves and you spend three weeks wringing him from your veins only to realise he's cancer. he grew around your organs while you pretended not to notice. it's like this, he's the sugar hit you wait all day for. the one you feel rotting your insides as you swallow it. he is every mistake you ever made and every bad outfit you ever wore.  it's like this, the lump in your throat when he chooses her. words you don't know in a voice you don't recognise. he is shaking and panic and you don't smoke cigarettes but you do need something to make you feel nothing and he is butterflies that became wasps. it's like this, three thousand warnings you didn't listen to. his voice saying 'i'd be devastated if i lost her' and 'i can't stay away from you' in the same damn breath. it's like this, what if you see him? oh, but what if you don't? it's your lungs in your stomach, your heart in your throat and who knew a human being could rearrange your organs. it's like this, you're ok, you're ok, you're ok, and someone walks past you wearing his cologne and your buildings crumble but if you say you're fine enough times it might make it true. it's like this, you don't know why you can't breathe because you didn't choose him either.

when you lose him, tell them you went down fighting. say that you held the universe in your arms and begged it not to let him leave you. when you lose him, which you will, because human hands weren't made for cupping water, whisper you loved him with the power of the waves, but you're not going to drown because that wasn't enough. when you lose him and your hands are raw from the battle and your nails are bleeding from scratching at the cage of a heart that never let you in, remember bruises fade and these won't be any different. remember you are stronger than the steel that holds up bridges. you have a light in you that the worst of him couldn't dim. when you lose him and they ask you why, tell them you fought the war of your life. tell them that you were the only one on the battlefield, and that armour can only be hit so many times. tell them you only laid down your arms because he walked away, hand in hand with her, and good god a bullet to the chest couldn't hurt that much. when you lose him, remember it was only a matter of time and you can't cage a bird beating it's wings to be free. when you lose him, remember you had years longer than you could have and though it hurts now, even high tide goes our eventually.

End it all. Make a plan. Sell your clothes. Buy a ticket. Step away from the chains that are making you miserable. They are not you. You are beautiful and strong and light. You are stronger than the steel that holds up bridges.  You are more than being destroyed by a man that loves you every second day. You are more than a job you can do with eyes closed.  You are more than your hair colour, more than the number flashing back at you on the scales. You are more than the feeling you get when they tell you to "be realistic", more than the lump in your throat when his eyes say you're not quite beautiful enough to be chosen.  The destroying, the breaking, the hiding in the bathroom at 10:39am so they don't see you break, and you can fix your makeup but nothing can fix the fact that you're just unhappy. And it's time to leave, but it has been for a while. End it all.

If our days could be seasons, Monday is Summer. I awake wearing shorts and brimming with possibility. Wasting no time, I wrap around your body and you kiss me until sweat beads on your brow, your hands making a home out of me. I think, this time you will not grow cold. I wring out my heart from the Wintery weekend and hope it was the last time I will cry frozen tears. Monday, we hold hands until our palms burn and the heat consumes us. I’m wearing jeans on Tuesday and you tell me how good my ass looks. I hate it and give you a look, but your approval warms the space in my chest. In the afternoon I notice a leaf fall on my favourite pair of shoes and it takes me by surprise. I should know how the seasons work by now. Tuesday, you hold my cool hands and interlace our fingers after forgetting about our lunch plans. You whisper, “Sorry” as you kiss me and I can breathe again, but the air is cool as it rattles my lungs. Wednesday, you touch my cheek and tell me you hate it when I wear makeup and I want to scream that you would hate me without it. You say you’re too busy and stop coming to see me, as a sea of orange leaves cascade around me. Autumn has well and truly kicked in and I have to take off my gloves to check my phone for the 95th time that hour. Wednesday, I find my dinner goes cold quickly and the sad songs aren’t sad enough. Thursday morning I’m wearing three sweaters and watching the clock tick by. I won’t survive another of your Winters, and I turn up the heating to convince myself it’s still warm. Yet, my hair is brittle from the cold and my teeth chatter. I’m desperate the way unloved things are, and ask how your night was. You take a phone call rather than answer my question and I notice snow start to fall as you walk away. On Friday, my icicle fingers type a message to you that will go unanswered. You surround yourself with people that don’t need to wear warm clothes, and don’t glance at me as you ice-skate past my shivering frame. Friday is uninhabited because surely no soul can survive there. As you leave, I kiss your ghost lips and you feed my starving heart a lie about missing me. After all, you may want to come home once the snow melts. I whisper to your shadow through sleet, “See you Monday.”